


Song For The Heart

by fangirl_squee



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Multi, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:13:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22316116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee
Summary: Some soulmates fall together easily, but others wind together slowly, like a soft melody from a dream.
Relationships: Fero Feritas/Lem King/Hella Varal
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11
Collections: Secret Samol 2019





	Song For The Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [moss_time](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moss_time/gifts).



> I hope you like this!! I was so delighted to get a boat party soulmate au as my assignment!!

There are so many rules for Soulmates in Rosemerrow, just like there are rules about everything, boxing him in, making his life only go in one direction when he knows there are other paths out there. He doesn’t  _ want _ to write down the two lines on his wrist, he doesn’t  _ want _ to go see someone who “specialises in multiple soulmates”, he doesn’t  _ want  _ to keep a record of his dreams to help him track his soulmates down.

He’s glad to leave it behind him with the rest of the city when he heads into the mountains, or as much of it as he can with the words still on his skin. He ties a scrap of cloth around his wrist to hide them from sight and forgets about them as much as anyone can forget about part of their own body.

It’s not as though he’s planning on seeing anybody out in the forest anyway, so there’s not much point in even thinking about it.

He doesn’t. Mostly.

Sometimes he’ll find something that he’s sure wasn’t in his home before, something that certainly belongs to someone else, a sword with a well-worn grip, a badly damaged book. Sometimes, something of his will go missing for a short while, before it appears exactly back where it had been. Fero chooses to ignore both of these events.

He tries not to touch the items that have appeared. Someone told him once that you could get visions on your soulmate with one of their things that had come to you. It’s probably just an old wives tale, but he’d rather not risk it. It’s already bad enough that he gets a song stuck in his head. He knows it’s from one of his dumb soulmates, because whenever he hears the melody, his wrist itches. When that happens, Fero scowls at the cloth covering his wrist and sings another song as loudly as he can.

If there’s someone out there that the universe has decided he  _ has _ to be with, he’d rather not know about it. He came out to the forest to get away from things he  _ had _ to do, after all.

\--

Hella’s parents are soulmates, very obviously so. Her mother says she would have known, even without the words on their wrists marking the moment they fell in love. When Hella asks her how, her mother sometimes speak of how they’d grown up together, had known each other a very long time, and also, unhelpfully, that she  _ just knew _ .

Hella’s own words are baffling, especially since she has two. The first is simple enough.

_ I think it is _ .

At some point in her life, someone will turn to her and say those words, and she’ll… well, she’ll have to hope that there’s something else to accompany them, because it’s hardly the most distinctive of phrases.

The second line is a string of music notes, wrapping all the way around her wrist like a bracelet. Her siblings tease her about it, just a little, finding the idea of their warrior sister being wooed with a song very amusing.

Hella traces the notes as she’s falling asleep sometimes. She can’t read music and she certainly isn’t about to ask anyone in her town to translate it. She’ll just have to wait to hear it, which is fine by her. She’s not in any rush to find whoever they are.

She does wonder, sometimes, if the song matches the one she dreams about.

\--

Soulmates are really just another kind of pattern, or, that’s what Lem’s always been told anyway. It makes sense - everything is the pattern after all, and soulmates, with their strange cause and effect rules, definitely have the tone of pattern magic.

Like all patterns, if you work with them, you can affect the broader pattern enough to take control of it, to change it. It’s not exactly Lem’s area of study but he tries sometimes, staring into mirrors, trying to catch a glimpse of who they could be. He can see trees behind him, or the ocean, or feel the warmth of a fire at his back, which is all very well and good but it’s not exactly illuminating. The only solution he can think of is that they’re well-travelled, switching from the forest to the open ocean and back again so fast they must be very adept in travel magic.

“Maybe it’s two,” says Devar.

“Two what?” says Lem, trying to unfocus his eyes in the mirror.

“Two people.”

Lem blinks, the wisps of ocean disappearing from behind him. “ _ Two _ soulmates? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’ve read about it,” says Devar.

Lem waves a hand. “Yes, but that’s not… it’s too uncommon.”

“It would explain why you have two bond-lines.”

Lem tugs his sleeve over his wrist, hiding the  _ I’ll help you  _ and  _ nice night _ that curl on the inside of his wrist. “That doesn’t mean anything. Maybe they just have two moments of falling in love with me.”

“That has never been recorded as having happened before,” says Devar.

“So?” says Lem, “Everything has to have a first occurrence  _ some _ time.”

Devar lets out a breath. “Maybe.” He pauses. “But having two soulmates is way more common than something that has literally never happened before.”

“You can’t know that it’s  _ literally _ never happened,” says Lem.

Devar shoots him a look, probably to remind Lem that, yes, he can, because his thesis is on soulmate ballads and so he has, in fact, scoured the Archive’s entire collection of soulmate works.

Lem ignores him, turning back to the mirror. If he unfocusses his eyes  _ just _ right, it almost looks like there’s a little sparrow on his shoulder. The sparrow tilts its head at him, fluffing up its feathers.

Perhaps his soulmate is some kind of travelling bird-keeper. How fascinating.

  
  


\--

  
  


Some way down the mountain Fero wakes from a nap, frowning at the roof of his cave about odd dreams involving mirrors, swirling reflections that he couldn’t quite make out.

  
  


\--

  
  


When Lem King stumbles into Fero’s life, he’s the first person Fero has seen in about three years, and the first person he’s been close enough to speak to in… well, he’s forgotten the last time that was, so probably a very long time ago. He stares at Lem. Lem stares back at him.

Lem looks about as startled as he feels. “Um. Hello?”

“What are you doing?”

Lem glances down to where he’s chipping away at the gemstone wall of the entrance to Fero’s cave. “Oh, I, ah. Well, you see, I- have you heard of pattern magic? Of course you have, obviously, so this is- well, I need it for a pattern, so-”

“This is my  _ home _ ,” says Fero, interrupting him.

“Your-” Lem looks around the empty space. “Right.”

“Well not  _ here _ ,” says Fero. He tries to remember the right words for parts of a house. “This is like the, the… it’s like the doorway.”

“This is  _ not _ a doorway,” says Lem.

“It is so,” says Fero, “if you keep going through it, you end up in my… living room? Or dining room, if I ate, I guess.”

“Going through it how,” says Lem, “Wait, what do you mean,  _ if _ you ate?”

“Through there,” says Fero, ignoring the second question, “that’s my house, here I’ll show you.”

He walks past Lem, down the sloping path to his home. There’s a pause, and then he can hear the crunch of Lem’s footsteps as he follows. It occurs to him as he reaches the door that showing a strange orc he doesn’t know a thing about where he lives is maybe not the safest thing he’s ever done.

Fero pauses at the actual doorway of his home, turning towards Lem. “Wait, you aren’t like, going to kill me or anything are you?”

“What?”

“Because I don’t have any money,” continues Fero, “and the gemstones look cool but I don’t think they’re worth anything, otherwise I’m pretty sure someone would have mined them out before I got here.”

“I, ah, I’m not- I was just collecting them for an assignment,” says Lem.

“Whatever,” says Fero, “It’s kind of rude to do without asking though.”

“I didn’t know there was anyone  _ to _ ask,” says Lem.

Fero tilts his head to the side, considering him. “I guess that’s fair.” He pauses. “So, you’re  _ not _ going to kill me.”

“No!” says Lem, “I don’t even know you!”

“People kill people they don’t know all the time,” says Fero, “Probably. I don’t actually know, I haven’t talked to anyone in a while.”

“I can tell,” says Lem, with a huff.

“Hey! Don’t act like I’m the rude one, you were the one breaking off bits of my house!”

“I didn’t know it was anyone’s house!” says Lem, “Listen, I, um. Mister…”

Fero wrinkles his nose. “Just Fero, thanks.”

“Just Fero,” says Lem, “Right. Well, I’m Lem King, and I… Look, it’s a very important and specific assignment, and I’ve been looking for  _ three days _ to find the right cave that fits the pattern, can I  _ please _ just take a  _ few _ gemstones?”

Fero bites the inside of his cheek, thinking for a moment. “Okay. But only if this is the last time you bother me.”

“Absolutely, yes, of course,” says Lem, the words tumbling out of him in a rush of breath, “Thank you, I-”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Fero.

There’s something you’re supposed to do when you make a deal, something- oh, right. A handshake. Fero holds out his hand to Lem.

Lem blinks at it for a moment, confused, before he shakes Fero’s hand. Or, he starts to. The moment their hands touch, a sharp feeling crackles through Fero’s body, making his toes curl. Lem’s eyes widen and he pulls back. The feeling disappears.

“I,” says Lem, “Uh. Did you... ?” He clears his throat. “Sorry about that. Must be residual pattern magic. I was doing an experiment for class earlier today, and then with collecting items for the pattern this afternoon, well. Sometimes they can mix, and cause a… a reaction, of sorts.”

Fero blinks. “Uh. Okay.” he glances over his shoulder. “Look, are you coming in or what?”

“I thought you thought I was going to murder you.”

“Nah,” says Fero, “I trust you.”

The weird thing is, he means it.

\--

Hadrian isn’t Hella’s soulmate. It confuses some people, which she gets. They’re in sync with each other, on the battlefield and off, but that’s just practise. People only think that because they haven’t seen him around Rosana.

They’ve been married three years and there are still times when Rosana walking into a room causes him to lose his train of thought. Rosana’s response is a little more subtle, but she ducks her head, a light blush on her cheeks. You would think that they were young lovers catching sight of each other in the marketplace, but perhaps it’s a leftover effect from their first meeting.

Hadrian’s soulmark suits him entirely.  _ My name is Rosana. _

Rosana’s is a matching  _ Pleased to meet you Hadrian. _

Hadrian shrugs off most of Hella’s teasing about it. “It’s just a soulmate thing, I think, I just… I can feel her walk into the room, and then I don’t want to look anywhere else.”

“Probably a good thing we’re not soulmates,” says Hella, “That’d be kind of impractical for the battlefield.”

“I guess,” says Hadrian, “maybe it’d be different, y’know. They say everyone’s soulbond works differently.”

Hella’s fingertips go to her wrist, lightly touching where the looping music notes tangle with the words above it. “I guess.”

Hadrian frowns. “Hey. You’ll find yours. Uh. Both of yours.”

Hella shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Sure you will,” says Hadrian.

Hella gives him a crooked grin. “Not all of us get a name to go on.” She shrugs. “I mean, it’s fine. If I find them, I find them. I have enough going on to keep me busy.”

\--

Lem means to avoid Fero’s cave, really, but the halfling is so odd that Lem feels  _ compelled _ to find out more about him. Fero, for his part, stays as grouchy as ever, but he does start keeping tea and a small tin of fruits and berries for Lem to have when he comes to visit. Despite his statements about not having to eat at all, he steals bits and pieces from Lem. Lem huffs in annoyance, but doesn’t really try to stop him. There’s something about Fero’s grin as he does so that Lem rather likes.

He visits so often that when he runs out of the Archives, violin case in hand, his feet take him to Fero’s place without him giving it any thought at all.

“Hey!” says Fero, stomping towards him, “You’re dripping water all over the floor!”

Lem looks down. There is a puddle, spreading outwards from him. He looks over his shoulder, and he can see the trail of wet footprint, leading all the way to him, oh god, it probably leads all the way back to the Archives, it will be so easy for them to track him, to find him-

“Hey,” says Fero.

His voice is quieter and closer to Lem than he had been. Lem flinches.

Fero holds up his hands. He steps forward, keeping his movements slow as he puts a hand on Lem’s arm. The warmth of his skin makes Lem realise how absolutely freezing cold he is. His thoughts go blessedly still with Fero’s touch too, letting him take a breath.

“Come on, sit down,” says Fero.

His voice is quieter, but it still holds the same badgering tone Lem has come to know these past few months. He lets Fero tug him towards the chair by the fire, staring into the flames and not thinking anything at all. Fero drapes a blanket over his shoulders, pressing a warm mug into Lem’s hands.

Fero hops up onto the little stool across from him, frowning. He doesn’t say anything, only leaning forward occasionally to tug the blanket further over Lem’s shoulders as it slips.

Lem takes a sip of tea, feeling the warmth travel through his body. He takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly before he speaks.

“I think I’m in trouble,” says Lem. He swallows, looking down at the tea. “I took something that I wasn’t supposed to, and now I- well they’ll be after me, and then they’ll-they’ll-”

“So you have to get away,” says Fero.

Lem blinks, looking up at him. Fero doesn’t  _ look _ like he’s joking. “Get away? How? I-I-I mean, Fero, they have  _ teams _ of people for this, I can’t just-”

“Sure you can,” says Fero, “I’ll help you. I know the forest better than they do.”

Lem frowns. “What?”

Fero leans forward, putting a hand on Lem’s knee. Even through the blanket, Fero’s touch feels much warmer than the fire.

"I'll help you,” says Fero.

Lem opens his mouth to say something grateful, really he does, but before he can manage to speak, Fero's words register in his mind, making Lem feel like he's plunged into deep, cold water. 

"What?" says Lem faintly, "what did you just say?"

Fero frowns. "I said I'll help? You literally  _ just  _ said you couldn’t do it on your own. But if this was a weird joke-"

"It's not a joke," says Lem. 

"Then what's your  _ problem _ ?"

"Nothing!" says Lem, tugging at his sleeve, "I- thank you."

"Well, you’re welcome," says Fero, "give me a minute to get my stuff and then let's get you out of here."

\--

Hella, somewhere far from the Archives, frowns and shifts, half-asleep, closer to the fire. She scratches her wrist, annoyance fading as she slips back into sleep.

\--

  
  


Lem considers Fero as they walk. It must just be a coincidence. Fero doesn't  _ seem  _ in love with him. 

Still, just in case, he makes sure to tug his sleeve tight over his wrist, hiding the words on his skin from view. Things were already complicated enough.

\--

Hella’s pack is heavier as she makes her way back to Velas. When she checks it, she has a few extra items which are not her’s, which isn’t entirely unusual. The mugs are clay instead of her serviceable tin ones, the curling details of vines along the handles worn smoothe from use. The blanket looks old, and smells of damp earth when she shakes it out. There’s a cast-iron pan which looks about as old as the blanket, and she uses it to make her dinner when she camps for the night. She cleans it, after, and when she wakes it has disappeared.

She doesn’t think much of it until she reaches Velas. She’s waiting outside the Council’s offices for Hadrian - he said she could go in when she arrived, but honestly she’d rather he just give her the shortened notes of the council’s bureaucracy before she goes to do whatever they’re being paid to do.

There’s a few others waiting outside the Council chamber, an orc and a halfling arguing with one another in hushed voices. As she gets closer, she can hear them more clearly.

“-I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t admit you lost them,” says the orc.

“Because I didn’t,” says the halfling, “the mugs are in my bag right now.”

“But they  _ weren’t _ ,” says the orc.

The halflings shrugs. “So they disappeared for a day, so what?”

“You mean you lost them,” says the orc.

“I didn’t-”

“Just admit you left them behind and went back to get them!”

“I didn’t,” says the halfling, his gestures becoming more agitated as he speaks, “when would I have had the time to do that?”

“I don’t know! You’re very fast sometimes, you could have done it while I was asleep!”

“If that’s true then why wouldn’t I have done it when we noticed they were gone?”

“Because you will never admit that you’re wrong!”

“That’s because I  _ am _ never wrong!”

The orc makes a sound of frustration, picking up his pack and walking to the other side of the chamber door. The halfling rolls his eyes and follows, their argument fading under the sounds of the other people walking outside the council chamber.

Hella’s wrist itches. She ignores it.

\--

Fero’s glad they don’t have to get on a boat  _ just _ yet, even if he still does have to travel with Lem, who’s currently trying to give him the silent treatment, and Hella, who  _ is _ silent. He fidgets with the straps of his pack as they walk. He hopes everything’s still there. Getting away from Velas might help, he feels like the closer they got to Velas, the more their stuff was going missing.

Lem glances back at him, and he makes a face. Lem makes one back before he flushes, glancing at Hella before he turns back to the path in front of them.

Getting away from Velas has also served to ease some of the tension from Lem’s shoulders, or perhaps it’s Hella. Despite the fact that she looks like she could kill both of them without breaking a sweat, it’s surprisingly easy to relax in her presence.

When they make camp for the night, Lem’s even calm enough to play a song, something Fero hasn’t heard him do since they began their journey away from the Archives. The song is different from the handful Fero’s heard him hum before, but it sounds so familiar.

Hella leans back against the tree, letting out a breath. “Nice night.” She pauses. “I like Velas well enough, but it’s good to get out of the city.”

Fero hums in agreement, letting the music wash over him, poking at the campfire. He catches himself humming along to patches of the song under his breath.

Hella tilts her head, watching Lem play for a moment. “That was beautiful.” She pauses. “What is that song called?”

Lem shrugs. “Just something that came into my head.”

Fero goes very still. Although he’s sitting close to the fire he feels cold run through him, and he looks up at Lem sharply. He knows where he’s heard that song before: in his dreams. Under the piece of cloth he has tired around his wrist, his skin prickles with heat.

Lem looks over at him, frowning a little. Fero tries to school his face back into a relaxed expression.

“Fero?”

“Hmm?”

Lem opens his mouth, then shuts it again. He presses his lips together.

“Nothing, I- Goodnight.”

“Night,” says Fero.

He waits until he’s certain Lem is asleep before he gets out his bedroll. It feels strangely heavy as he picks it up, and as he unravels it he can see why - there’s a shortsword inside it. Fero frowns, reaching out to touch it. His fingertips tingle as they come into contact with the worn leather grip, the firelight catching on the nicks in the blade as he holds up the sword.

“I think that’s mine,” says Hella, from behind him.

Fero’s breath catches in his throat. Hella’s still seated in front of the fire, turned a little to face him. The firelight dances in her hair, and it takes him a moment to find his voice.

“I think it is,” says Fero. He pauses. “It was, uh. It must have got mixed up with my stuff.”

“It’s just my spare,” says Hella, “Although come to think of it, we probably should get you a real sword.”

“I don’t need one,” says Fero, “I’m as dangerous as a sword.”

Hella laughs, grinning over at him. “I suppose you can be.”

She holds her hand out, and Fero steps forward to hand her the sword. Their fingers brush, and Fero feels lightning crackle under his skin. He jumps back, startled. Hella looks at him with wide eyes.

“Don’t look at me!” says Fero, “That, uh, it’s- it was residuel pattern magic!”

“It- what?” says Hella.

“It’s Lem’s fault!” says Fero.

Hella looks towards where Lem is either currently asleep or doing a much better acting job than Fero would have thought him capable of. She looks back at Fero.

“Pattern magic,” says Hella slowly.

Fero nods.

Hella lets out a slow breath. “Yeah, okay. I guess that makes about as much sense as anything else.”

Fero quickly gets into his bedroll. When he’s sure that Hella’s not looking at him, he carefully unties the cloth from around his wrist, looking at the words in the firelight.

_ I think that’s mine _ .

When he touches his fingertips to the words, he can feel something pulse underneath. Pattern magic, maybe.

\--

Lem and Fero spend the morning bickering, in itself not an unusual sound for their trip. She barely notices what they’re saying until Lem starts waving his jacket in Fero’s face.

“This won’t even fit you!” says Lem, “Stop taking my stuff!”

Fero’s cheeks are flushed a bright pink. “I didn’t take it!”

Hella turns away, hiding a rueful smile as she gathers her own things together for the day’s walk. Poor kids don’t realise they’re soulmates.

She feels something oddly-shaped in her bag and pulls it out, frowning for a moment. It’s a small leather pouch with a faded crown stamped on the outside. She unwinds the ties, her confusion deepening as she sees a collection of old quills and half-used pots of ink.

“Oh!” says Lem, “my writing set! Thank you Hella, I was wondering where it’d got to.”

“Uh,” says Hella.

Lem takes the writing set and carefully rewraps it before putting it into his bag, apparently oblivious to whatever stunned expression is on her face.

Maybe, thinks Hella, these woods are just weird, and switch people’s things around. Maybe it  _ is _ pattern magic, whatever that means. 

The bigger explanation hovers on the edge of her thoughts for the rest of the day.

\--

“You’re lost,” says Fero.

“I am not,” says Lem, “Stop complaining.”

“No,” says Fero, “And we are.”

“No we’re not,” says Lem, “I know exactly where we are.”

“I doubt it,” says Fero.

Lem turns on his heels, letting out a frustrated huff of breath. “We’re not lost! We- look, it’s just a little further and then we reach the coast!”

“Uh,” says Hella.

Lem and Fero both turn to look at her.

“Look, I don’t want you to feel like I’m picking sides here,” says Hella, “but we  _ are _ going  _ away _ from the coast.”

“No, we-” Lem looks down at the map in his hands. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure,” says Hella. She peers over his shoulder, picking the map out of his hands and turning it around the opposite way. “Yeah. We’re lost.”

“Why didn’t you  _ say _ anything?”

Hella shrugs. “Fero already was.”

Lem feels himself flush. “Well, that’s- he always does that.”

“I do not!” says Fero. He goes up on tiptoes, peering at the map. “So how do we get back to where we’re supposed to be?”

“That depends on where we are now,” says Hella, “If we knew where we were, I could work out a shortcut.”

“How do we do that?” says Lem.

“Get to higher ground, look for landmarks,” says Hella.

Lem looks around them. The forest crowds in on all sides. “What higher ground?”

“We’ll, I don’t know, we’ll climb a tree or something,” says Hella.

Lem looks up at the tall pine trees above them. The trunks look sturdy enough but the tops wave sickeningly in the wind.

“Okay,” says Fero, “Here, hold my pack.”

“Are you sure?” says Hella.

“Yeah, of course,” says Fero, “I’m great at climbing, right Lem?”

Lem can’t remember ever seeing Fero climb anything steeper than a hillside.

“Yeah, Fero’s great at climbing,” says Lem.

“Okay,” says Hella slowly, “Be careful.”

She gives him a boost up to the first branch of the closest tree. Lem stands close to her, both of them watching as Fero gets higher and higher, moving easily from branch to branch. THe top of the tree starts to swing back and forth as Fero gets closer to it, and Lem maffles a gasp.

“Okay!” Fero calls down to them, “I think I can see the ocean! It’s that way!”

He points, the top of the tree waving back and forth with his movements.

“Okay, great!” Hela calls back, “Now come down!”

“Okay!”

“Be careful!”

“Yeah, of course I-”

There’s a sickening  _ crack _ from above them, and Fero falls. The broken branch falls below him, thwacking onto other branches on it’s way down. Fero is luckier in some respects, grabbing onto branches as he goes and slowing his decent. Once brach catches something on his sleeve as he falls, the cloth tearing.

“We’re going to catch him,” says Hella quickly, “Lem, get ready-”

He doesn’t even think about it, moving in time with Hella, mirroring her movement as Fero clears the tree and lands easily in their outstretched arms. The lightning feeling crackles under his skin, but this time he doesn’t pull away, the feeling building until the light shines from his wrist.

Lem stares down at it, his heart pounding in his chest, and he slowly looks up, bracing himself to see which of their wrists shows the same light. His breath catches in his throat.

Hella and Fero’s wrists are  _ both _ alight.

Lem stares from one to the other, blinking, before he looks up at their faces. They both look as startled as he feels.

“You had my sword,” says Hella, faintly.

“Yeah,” says Fero, “and you had Lem’s writing gear.”

Hella swallows. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

Lem looks down at their wrists, his eyes flicking over their words. He frowns at Hella’s wrist for a moment.

“Oh,” says Lem, “that’s-”

He hums the tune that’s marked on Hella’s wrist, starting in surprise as Fero joins in, followed by Hella.

“How do you know that song?” says Lem. “I just made it up!”

“It’s always stuck in my head,” says Fero, “Ever since… Ever since forever, I guess.”

Hella nods. “I used to… I thought maybe I dreamt it, until you played it last night.”

“Oh,” says Lem.

“It’s not a bad tune,” says Fero, “If I- I mean, if there’s a song I have to always have in my head, I kind of don’t mind that it’s yours. Or, ours, I guess.”

“Ours?” says Lem.

“Well, it’s on Hella and you played it and it’s in my head,” says Fero, “So… ours.”

Lem feels himself flush. “I suppose… Ours then.”

Hella smiles slowly. “Ours.”

She leans forward and Fero and Lem copy her motion. They press their foreheads together, a three-way-kiss of sorts, their fingers tangled together between them.

“Ours,” says Lem again, softly, “I quite like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi: mariusperkins on most places


End file.
